Royal Lockdown. Rebecca York

Secret Service now,” the chief gunman said. “Three people have already been killed. Take out your weapons and put them on the floor or more innocent people will die. If you want that on your heads, then stand there like dummies.”

      Nobody spoke. The only sound in the room was the whisper of sidearms being drawn from concealed holsters.

      As he strained his eyes and listened, Shane assessed his chances of acquiring one of those weapons. Not good. Not when the opposition could see the room perfectly, and he had only moonlight to guide him in a room full of frightened people who were ready to go into panic mode.

      A few moments ago they had been happily celebrating an international trade agreement. Now they were living their worst nightmare.

      “Okay. Now, to the Secret Service and everybody else, take out your cell phones, walkie-talkies, any other communication devices. Drop them.”

      Again, the crowd obeyed. He heard cell phones hitting the floor all over the room. He still had his own phone—for all the good it did him. The authorities must know what was going on at the top of the Hancock Tower. If they could mount a rescue attempt, they would.

      On the other hand, maybe he’d be able to give the police some information. He could always dial 911. Or he could contact his brother, Chase, who might be downstairs in one of the limousines parked along the curb. But he couldn’t risk making a call until he got Ariana out of the reception room.

      He turned back to her, gathering her close, and he realized that she had stopped trembling.

      When he shifted his stance, she raised her head. “Je suis bien.”

      He knew she wasn’t really okay. But she was showing her royal training and her moral fiber. How many women would have remembered to reassure the guy in hiding with her?

      “Uh-huh,” he whispered. She had to be scared out of her mind, but at least the darkness had spared her the sight of the ambassador getting killed. Or maybe the darkness had made it worse.

      His mind scrambled frantically for a plan that would keep her safe.

      The men out there were obviously ruthless. Obviously willing to kill to get what they wanted. And he didn’t even know what that was yet. The sounds outside their hiding place told him the captors were gathering up the discarded weapons and cell phones.

      A man in the crowd voiced Shane’s thoughts. “What do you want?”

      None of the captors spoke. Instead, the question was answered with a burst of gunfire. Another one of the guests screamed and fell to the ground, and Ariana cringed.

      “Steady,” he whispered.

      Outside their hiding place, something else was happening. Again he turned, and movement in the reception area riveted his attention. Two of the captors were silently and slowly moving around the walls, checking for anybody who hadn’t followed directions and gathered in the center of the room.

      He felt his jaw muscles clench. Had he pulled Ariana into a death trap?

      Praying that their hiding place would be undetectable, Shane quickly drew the princess farther back into the niche in the wall. When he came to the recess where the mechanism for the folding walls had been removed, he eased her into the tiny space, then followed her inside. It was a tight squeeze, and he had to hold her against his body so that her breasts were crushed against his chest.

      Her breath was shallow, and he wanted to say something reassuring, but he’d run out of quips. Besides, talking was no longer an option with the gunman so close.

      As footsteps came toward them, he felt Ariana tense.

      The fight-or-flight reaction.

      His own muscles were strung as tightly as coiled springs, but he knew there was little an unarmed man could do when he was standing twenty feet away from an assailant with an itchy finger on the trigger of a submachine gun. A man who had already killed much too casually.

      Maybe the only advantage Shane had was surprise. From an inside pocket in his tuxedo jacket, he withdrew a small folding knife. Designed to pass through a metal detector, it was made of very thin plastic. He opened it and held it in his hand, prepared to slash at the gunman if he got the chance. It was a pitiful strategy, but his only option at the moment.

      As the footsteps came toward them, he prepared to spring. The man stopped at the niche in the wall, and Shane pictured him staring inside, his night-vision goggles giving him an excellent view of the narrow space. He wondered if his tuxedo jacket was sticking out. Or maybe his shoe. He wanted to inch closer to Ariana, but he knew that any movement would be a fatal mistake. So he stood there with his breath frozen in his lungs.

      The man took a step into the crevice, and Shane almost whirled and lunged with the knife.

      Gritting his teeth, he held his breath and forced himself to keep cool. After seconds that felt like centuries, he heard the man take a step back, then another. But he remained in front of their hiding place for what seemed like eons. Finally, he moved on, and Shane let the breath trickle out of his lungs.

      He heard Ariana doing the same.

      “All secure,” one of the armed men reported to his leader.

      That’s what you think, you bastard.

      Ariana’s fingers dug into the arm of his tuxedo jacket. “Hang in there,” he whispered.

      “What do they want?” she asked, her voice wispy.

      “I’m sure we’ll find out soon,” he answered in the same barely audible voice.

      “This could be like that school in Russia. Did the captives ever know why they were being held?”

      “Maybe not,” he conceded.

      He’d like to think this was about money. Or power. He suspected the motive was going to be a lot worse.

      He felt Ariana shift her body. “Could you give me a little breathing room?” she whispered.

      “Of course.”

      He needed some breathing room himself. On the dance floor, he’d been all wrapped up in the intimacy of holding her so close. Now the proximity was only adding to his uneasy feeling.

      He needed to clear his head and think. Reluctantly, he stepped away from her and took a breath.

      “I’ll be right back,” he whispered.

      “Where are you going?” she asked quickly, tension quivering in her voice.

      He gave her arm a quick squeeze. “Not far. To see if I can find out what’s going on. Stay here—you’ll be okay.”

      Quietly he walked to the front of the crevice, then he got down on his hands and knees.

      Round tables with long white skirts were scattered around the room, and he used one of them to shield himself as he tried to get a better handle on the situation.

      Out in the reception room, one of the captors spoke again. He’d put on a gas mask, which muffled his voice. But the message was all too clear.

      “There is no escape from the reception area. If you try to leave, you will activate our fail safe system, releasing cyanide gas into the room. Everyone here will die, except for the four of us who are equipped with gas masks.”

      Cyanide gas.

      As the words assaulted Shane, he felt a shudder go through his body. And not just because he knew the effects of the deadly poison. He remembered once before when he’d been in a dangerous situation and cyanide gas had been an important part of the equation. It was on that long-ago mission to Barik when everything had suddenly gone bad.

       Oh, Lord. Was that what tonight was all about?

      It couldn’t be. Yet even as he tried to downplay the importance of this new element, he was thinking about the man on the team he hadn’t mentioned to Ariana.

      Liam